How To Wash The Tears Away
by hiriki
Summary: Post-series fic. (Warning: SPOILERS!) Mikoto is gone. The tears wouldn't stop falling so soon, but Fushimi was ready to do something about it, or so he thought. (Rated T for language)


**Disclaimer: K and its characters don't belong to me, so yeah**

**ohmygawd this took me forever. I really wanted to do a fic involving Fushimi trying to comfort Yata (and occasionally failing) after the events of the last episode, so here you go! Personally, these two were the only thing that cheered me up on episode 13. And this fandom needs more love, which means lots of fluff. This was also posted on my tumblr (hiriki).**

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The faint smell of something burning made Saruhiko wake up from his slumber, suddenly feeling too cold under the open sky. The great amount of snow preventing his feet from moving made him realize that he probably spent more time than he should there – all his co-workers were already gone, and he had a vague remembrance of Awashima calling his name while he idly waved his hand and said something stupid that he couldn't remember.

The air was filled with snow, ashes and the familiar sound of the voices of the HOMRA members, slowly getting louder and louder as they walked towards the bridge. They were way too far to notice there was a remaining SCEPTER 4 member in the road, and Saruhiko knew he should go away as quickly as possible in order to avoid any confusion.

Thanks to Mikoto's death, his mind was a mess. He couldn't quite put into words what he was feeling – surprise, emptiness, grief, maybe a bit of pain…? But then again, the Red King wasn't his King. Not anymore. It was like his brain was slowly trying to answer the question from earlier – did he still care about HOMRA? About Mikoto? When Misaki asked this-

Oh, right.

Misaki.

Saruhiko stopped walking. Carefully, his hand reached to where his old HOMRA mark should be – now it was a piece of scarred skin and nothing more. The pained sound of Misaki's screams echoed in his head, as well as the image of his glowing HOMRA mark.

And now there wouldn't be a mark anymore – an empty chest, just like Saruhiko's, maybe with even more scars on the inside.

_I told you these things can't last forever. I told you he was no hero. _

In the end, he was right.

Before he knew, the HOMRA members were already around him, most of them completely ignoring his presence, others just glancing at him in annoyance, as if his presence was a threat to their mourning. Looking around, Saruhiko could finally tell from where the smell of fire was coming – most members were holding improvised torches, their own way to say goodbye to their King.

It took him almost five minutes to find Misaki amongst the great amount of sobbing people around him. He was walking slower than most of the clansmen, his empty hands clenched in fists while a few persistent tears were falling through his red face, matching well with his runny nose.

He wouldn't have noticed Saruhiko if the younger boy hadn't rested a hand on his old friend's shoulder.

For a moment, neither of them said or did anything except from staring at each other's eyes – one with swollen, red teary eyes, other hiding his with a pair of glasses.

Misaki's lips trembled, but he said nothing and broke their eye-contact, going back to his walk. Saruhiko couldn't help but walk with him, his hand getting warmer thanks to the boy's shoulder. It was like they were back to their school days – the shorter boy on the lead, and a silent Saruhiko by his side.

"I don't need your pity" Misaki mumbled suddenly, making Saruhiko's hand jump a little on his shoulder.

"I don't pity you."

"So what?" The trembling tone on Misaki's voice startled Saruhiko. "You don't understand what we're going through. I thought you'd still feel something at a time like this, but you… it's no use."

"…Well, it's stupid, but I _do_ feel weird."

Misaki snorted.

"Weird, huh? Maybe you're just catching a cold."

The fact that Misaki was willing to talk a bit more with him made Saruhiko feel warmer, even though there were still tears all over the other boy's face. He even enjoyed the silence that quickly fell between them – a warm, familiar silence, smelling like ashes and salt.

Saruhiko's hand slipped from Misaki's shoulder to his collar, and he pulled the older boy shirt's collar down. Misaki didn't stop him – they were used to each other's hand, even after being apart for so long.

"So your mark is gone too, huh."

"Not only our marks." A small sob came from Misaki. "Mikoto-san… he's…"

Slowly, Saruhiko let go of Misaki's shirt. He wanted to say the things he had always said – that Misaki had it coming, that it was obvious that his precious "family" wouldn't last forever.

Strangely, he wasn't able to say so.

Saruhiko flinched when he noticed Misaki's eyes on him, his gaze balanced between sadness and uncertainty.

"…I _know_ what you're thinking."

"W-what?" Even Saruhiko felt surprised when his voice trembled.

"You're thinking that HOMRA is over – that we're nothing now that Mikoto-san is… is…" more tears filled his eyes.

"I wasn't-"

"Well, I've got news for you!" He tried to smile while crying, which resulted in a weird grimace. "We're not out of the picture! One of these days, I'll beat the shit out of you!"

He forced a laugh out of his mouth, but started to sob halfway. In the end, he was crying with all his might again.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue.

"You know, you don't need to try to impress me. It's not like I never expected you to cry your heart out if anything happened with that King of yours-"

"So how come you're so okay with the situation?!" Misaki shot an angry glare at him, eyes still filled with unshed tears. "He was your King too! Don't deny it!"

"I told you I'm feeling a little weird-"

"That's not even enough!" His words were punctuated by sobs. "At a time like this, you should be with us- you should be with _me_! We were together on this, and you left… you betrayed me." And suddenly, he wasn't crying only for Mikoto – he was crying for Mikoto, for Saruhiko, for his best friend, for the person who understood him the most, for HOMRA.

And as usual, Saruhiko didn't know what to say. His hand went back to Misaki's shoulder, squeezing it slowly.

"…I'm here now, you idiot."

"That's not enough… not enough… for all this time… you never… and now Mikoto-san too… left…" Misaki gave up on his words, and decided to let his tears speak for him.

_Stop crying._

_Stop looking so defeated and alone._

Saruhiko slid his arm through Misaki's shoulders, bringing him closer with a nervous feeling jumping on his chest. He didn't know what to do in this kind of situation – he didn't even know how the _hell_ they came to that kind of situation. He could deal with a happy Misaki, the one who would tug his arm and walk beside him while wearing a messy middle-school uniform; an angry Misaki, sliding on his skateboard and burning those who were against him; but he didn't know the sad, tearful Misaki beside him at that moment, he never tasted the salt of those tears like he tasted his smiles and angry glares.

"Misaki." He whispered.

"What…?"

"Misaki."

"Wha-"

"Misaki. Misaki. _Misaki._"

"Stop-"

"Misaki. Misa-"

"Damn you, stop that!" He shouted at Saruhiko, jerking away from him. As much as his face was still red and swollen, the annoyance on his face brought a little of his old Misaki back, and took a bit of his sadness away.

Saruhiko smirked.

"You stopped."

"What the fuck are-"

"You stopped crying."

Misaki's eyes widened as he touched his own face and noticed that it was almost dry. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could do it, his lips curled up into an excited smile as his eyes met Saruhiko's collarbone.

"Of _course_!" He tugged Saruhiko's shirt, revealing his pale scarred skin. "You still have it… your scar!"

"Uh, yeah." That was pretty ironic, actually – he wanted to get rid of that goddamn mark more than anyone, but, in the end, he was the only one left with a recordation of it.

Misaki stared at it for a while, fascinated by the fact that the scar had the same size as their old HOMRA marks – until tears started to form in the corner of his eyes.

"Ugh- not _again_…" Saruhiko brought Misaki closer, rolling his eyes to hide his own awkwardness.

"But it's a good thing, you know?" The older boy managed to form a weak smile, his fingertips touching the scar. Saruhiko shuddered. "I used to hate this scar of yours, but now… it's like a little piece of Mikoto-san."

"Yeah, great. It's all that I ever wanted." Saruhiko mumbled, thankfully low enough to escape from Misaki's ears.

Misaki's fingers kept resting on his scar, and he slowly raised his eyes to Saruhiko, both half-hidden by his swollen eyelids.

"Do you miss him?" He whispered. There was a tear rolling down on his left cheek.

There was silence for almost a minute. Then, Saruhiko grabbed Misaki's hand with his own, putting the boy's hand away from his collarbone.

He sighed.

"You know, Misaki… It's been just a few hours since he died."

More tears.

"B-but I miss him already, damn it!"

"Well, you were always pretty emotional." There was snow on Misaki's shoulders, and Saruhiko quickly wiped it away. "If you keep looking so pitiful, I'll have to take you home and cook you something, Misaki~"

"…Huh? You don't even know how to cook!"

"I learned a lot of things since you last saw me in a kitchen. You need to update your database about me."

"Ha! I bet your fried rice sucks!" His smile slowly melted, and there were more tears. "Mikoto-san… Mikoto-san ate my fried rice once, y-you know…"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue.

"Okay. To my house then."

"H-Huh?! I don't want to!"

"You're the one who provoked me, saying stuff about my fried rice."

"I'm in m-mourning, I don't want to-"

"Fine, let's mourn together. With two bowls of fried rice."

"I'm staying with HOMRA!" Misaki yelled. "You… you don't understand. We need to stay together now, more than never."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and Misaki almost predicted that Saruhiko was about to click his tongue.

"…Guess I have no choice, then. I'm going with you."

"What-?!" Misaki's eyes widened with surprise, but he didn't complain.

"You don't want to be alone, do you?" He sighed. "…I really hate it, but I'll go with you."

They walked a bit more in silence. The intensity of Misaki's gaze glued on him – a mix of surprise, confusion, and a bit of hope – started to annoy the younger boy.

"Tch. What is it, Misaki?"

"Uh, nothing. " He took a small breath before speaking again: "Are you really okay with coming over to HOMRA? I mean, I-I don't really mind, in a moment like this… but the other members might not be so complacent, you know…"

"I'm not plotting to destroy Kusanagi-san's bar, so I don't see why they'd be hostile to me. But I must agree, it's going to be pretty troublesome." He let out a big sigh.

"That's what I'm asking- why are you coming?"

It took almost a minute for Saruhiko to answer.

"That's what I'm telling you- I can't leave Misaki alone on a moment like that, can I? Since middle-school, you were never able to go through this kind of thing by yourself." He sighed again. "As annoying as always, aren't you, Misaki?"

Misaki didn't answer. There was no need to. There was a part of him that knew very well how much the damn monkey was trying to hide his own wish to help him – and this part of him went against his whole self and wanted to smile just a bit, only for a few seconds.

He touched his face again, trembling fingertips meeting his cheeks.

There were no tears.


End file.
